When the Snow Lay Round About
by Laine3112
Summary: When Tony's car is forced off a mountain road, the badly injured agent receives help from an unexpected source. A Christmas story. Tony and Gibbs - father/son COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional.**

A/N:- I had intended to have this short Christmas story completely written and posted by Christmas but the best laid plans… This is a crazy busy time for most of us but I will try to get it done as soon as I possibly can, L.

**When The Snow Lay Round About**

**Chapter One**

Gibbs leaned heavily against the wall of the elevator and carded his fingers through his hair. It had been a tough couple of months with back-to-back investigations and the added strain of working the last two weeks as a three-man team, so he was thankful that the director had placed his team on stand-down over the imminent Christmas break.

As lead agent of the MCRT, he'd been involved in many long and arduous cases where evidence was scarce; witnesses proved unreliable and perpetrators were unrepentant and hard to crack. But once in a while they caught a break…

Their current case was all but closed. A young Marine had been charged with involuntary manslaughter after a drunken brawl in a Georgetown nightclub resulted in the death of a barman. The damaging evidence and multiple witnesses were enough to obtain an arrest warrant but the young man's subsequent confession had sealed his own fate.

Now, two days out from Christmas, a small mountain of paperwork was all that stood between his team and a well-earned break. Ducky had organised for the extended team to share a meal at his home on Christmas Eve, before returning to MTAC for the now customary viewing of "It's a Wonderful Life" on the large screen. On Christmas day the team would separate for their family holiday commitments. Everything was going according to plan, with one exception…DiNozzo.

As the elevator doors slid open Tony blocked the former Marine's path, almost vibrating with pent up energy.

"Boss-"

"Not gonna happen," Gibbs said, pre-empting the agent's words and stepping around him

"That's a little harsh, Boss," Tony replied as he fell into step behind his team leader. "I mean, you don't even know what I was gonna say."

"Gotta pretty good idea."

"And?"

"Still not gonna happen."

"Come on, Gibbs, give me one good reason why I shouldn't go," the younger man protested, then stepped back quickly when his boss suddenly turned to face him.

"The man left you for dead," Gibbs stated.

Tony winced at the memory but recovered quickly.

"O-kay…give me another reason."

"Don't need another," Gibbs told him. "Neither should you."

"Look, I know how you feel, but if Eddie hadn't vouched for me in the first place, I'd have never gotten near Carmine Rosetti and he wouldn't be looking at twenty to life for the death of Petty Officer Rickard."

"Eddie Muldoon sold you out!"

"I explained that, Boss. Rosetti was on to me, Eddie knew he'd be next on his hit-list."

"So he hops the first bus to Deep Creek Lake until Rosetti's behind bars and now he wants you to go get him. I don't like it."

"The boss is right, Tony," McGee added. "We've got solid evidence against Rosetti and we have your testimony. We don't need Muldoon to get a conviction."

"Eddie took a huge risk getting me in with Rosetti," Tony persisted. "We owe him!"

"Read my lips, DiNozzo. He left you for dead," Gibbs ground out.

"Come on, Boss, I was wearing a wire and you guys were kicking the door in before any real damage was done."

"You call two cracked ribs and a fractured cheekbone, no real damage?"

"Rosetti never gave us the names of his contacts at the Navy bases, right?" Tony said. "Eddie said he'd name names in exchange for witness protection."

Gibbs worked his jaw as he considered his options. The fact that Carmine Rosetti had held firm and not revealed his Navy contacts had gnawed at Gibbs since they'd arrested him. A promising young petty officer had been murdered because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and the demand for justice still burned brightly in the former Marine's gut. He released a long sigh and replied reluctantly.

"Take McGee."

The IT specialist was already on his feet when Tony waved him off.

"Eddie's one twitch away from a nervous breakdown. If he sees someone he doesn't know he's gonna have a meltdown and we'll get nothing."

"You're still on light duties," Gibbs growled.

"I've been riding a desk for a week, Boss! I'm gonna go postal if I don't get outta here soon."

Sitting at her desk, Ziva huffed a sarcastic laugh and the three men turned in her direction.

"Something on your mind, Ziva?" Gibbs asked.

"As a matter of fact, I think Tony is right," she said. "I think he should go."

"You do?" Tony asked suspiciously, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"If Tony stays at his desk for one more day it is quite possible that we will _all_ go postal. All week he has been like a hyperactive child with his spit-balls and paper planes and his movie quotations..." She took a deep calming breath and continued, choosing her words carefully. "But…when he is not being a complete goofball, Tony is a…a capable agent."

Completely unrepentant, Tony flashed his signature shit-eating grin.

"Careful there, Zee-vah," he replied. "If you'd choked any harder on that rousing endorsement, I'd have been forced to use the Heimlich manoeuvre."

His smile faded as he turned back to Gibbs and glanced at his watch.

"Three hours there, three hours back and an hour to prise Eddie's fingernails from the ceiling. I can be back by…eighteen hundred."

A heavy silence formed between the two senior agents until Gibbs blew out an exasperated breath with considerable force.

"You call in every two hours," Gibbs told him.

"Oh, come on, Boss!"

"Every two hours, DiNozzo! Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Tony replied, his indignation waning when he heard the concern behind the sharp words.

"I'll be with the director," Gibbs said.

Tony watched as his boss made his way to the mezzanine level and looked back over his shoulder. The two exchanged a meaningful glance; communicating volumes, as they so often did, through looks rather than words. Walking to his desk he shut down his computer and grabbed his gear.

"I'm with the boss on this one, Tony," McGee said. "He's definitely not happy about you going to see Muldoon alone."

"He's Gibbs. He's never happy," Tony replied glibly. "Look, I've known Eddie since I was a cop at Baltimore. He was afraid Rosetti would kill him and he ran; most people would."

McGee nodded reluctantly.

"You should take the SUV rather than the sedan," he suggested. "They're forecasting heavy snow in that area later tonight."

"And you know this…how?"

"I checked with the National Weather Service this morning when you first mentioned driving to Deep Creek Lake."

"Of course you did, Probie," Tony replied. "Thanks, man."

He tossed his backpack over his shoulder, feeling a small twinge from his still healing ribs.

"I'll see you both for dinner at Ducky's tomorrow night."

He was almost at the elevator when Ziva's voice rang out.

"Drive carefully," she said by way of apology.

"I'll be sure to keep both feet on the wheel at all times," he grinned as the elevator doors closed.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Tony shifted from foot to foot and shrugged further into his coat as the biting wind tore at his exposed skin.

"I don't know what to tell you, Boss," he shivered as he spoke into his cell. "I've been here an hour and there's no sign of Eddie."

Gibbs felt a stirring in his gut.

"Get back here," he said.

"Maybe I should wait. I mean, cabin's paid for two more days and Eddie's things are still here. He can't be far away."

"He had his chance," the former Marine told him. "Muldoon calls you again, you tell him we're through playing games. He meets you here or nowhere."

Tony sighed audibly and looked to the sky in the west as the gusty wind increased in intensity, transforming the snow flurries into gusty squalls. The temperature had dropped dramatically and although the coming snowstorm was still quite a way out, he had no plans to get caught in it.

"I gotcha, Boss," he replied dutifully. "Looks like there's a storm coming. I better get moving if I'm gonna stay ahead of it."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs voice sounded through the phone.

"Boss?"

"Watch your six."

"Al-ways."

Making his way quickly back to the SUV his cold fingers fumbled with the battery charger as he connected his cell and placed it on the passenger seat. Adjusting the heat, he guided the vehicle back toward the 68, softly singing the annoying Christmas carol that had been stuck in his head for three days.

"When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0 **

"You sure that's him?" Gianni Rosetti asked, squinting into the binoculars as the dark SUV rounded a far bend.

"That's the car that was at Muldoon's cabin," the man in the passenger seat replied. "We'll get a better look at the driver when he rounds the next bend."

"Gianni, you sure you wanna do this?" the skinny man in the backseat asked. "I mean, killing a fed, man…we could get the death penalty for that."

"Only if we get caught," Rosetti said. "I didn't come all this way to let DiNozzo to testify against my brother. Wait until we know it's him, then move in behind."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

Tony felt the rear wheels of the SUV momentarily lose traction and he quickly corrected the steering. Outside, the snowfall had eased but the sudden drop in temperature had caused dangerous patches of black ice to form on the road surface. With an irritated thump, he switched off the radio that was emitting more static than music as the road snaked its way deeper into the mountain range.

He uttered a soft curse as the windshield began to mist and he opened the window an inch to clear it. The sudden blast of bitter cold sent a shiver down his back but the fresh mountain air was bracing and he inhaled deeply. To his left, the road hugged a steep cliff-face that rose sharply to the top of the mountain; while on the right, beyond the guardrail, the ground dropped to the valley below and the Green Ridge State Forest. Pristine snow blanketed the heavy undergrowth while the branches of the majestic oak and hickory trees strained beneath their wintry burden. Not for the first time, he wondered what it was about snow that made the world seem calm and at peace.

His attention was quickly drawn to the rear view mirror and the fast moving vehicle approaching from behind. Without conscious thought his hand slid inside his coat and his fingers wrapped around his Sig Sauer. He watched as the gap between the two vehicles quickly narrowed and braced himself as the SUV was shunted roughly from behind.

"What the…sonofabitch!" he cursed while fighting the wheel for control.

Twin muzzle flashes from the vehicle behind was the only warning before two rounds whistled passed Tony's head and perforated the windshield. The SUV fishtailed wildly on the wet road sending his cell tumbling to the floor as he fought the wheel for control. As the other vehicle closed in again, Tony was vaguely aware of his cell ringing from under the seat. He held his weapon in an awkward left-handed grip and squeezed off a couple of rounds, then stamped down hard on the gas pedal, desperate to put some distance between the two vehicles.

Another volley of bullets strafed the SUV, shattering the side and rear windows into a million tiny prisms but the instant the back-end started to slide, Tony knew he was in trouble. Another patch of black ice propelled the vehicle toward the safety fence at a dangerously high speed. Immediately lifting his foot from the gas pedal he took a sharp breath as the SUV exploded through the low metal railing. Careening twenty yards down the snow covered mountain side, the SUV threatened to roll several times before impacting the trunk of a large oak tree with sickening force.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Having completed the last of their reports, Gibbs had dismissed his team to complete their Christmas shopping or take advantage of the rare early finish. Ziva had quickly cleared her desk and joined Abby to partake in some retail therapy while McGee stayed behind to back-up some files. He looked up from his computer to find Gibbs standing over his desk.

"Need you to trace Tony's cell," the lead agent said.

"Something wrong, Boss?" he asked already typing commands on his keyboard. "Tony's not due to check-in again for over an hour."

"He's not picking up," Gibbs told him. "I need his location."

"It may not mean he's in trouble, Boss, it could be just an intermittent signal in the mountains."

He fleetingly wondered what had prompted Gibbs to try to call Tony rather than waiting for the senior field agent's scheduled check-in. But the famous Gibbs gut worked in mysterious ways – particularly when it came to Tony DiNozzo. Several long minutes later, McGee pointed a remote at the large plasma screen and a map of the I-68 appeared.

"Signals coming from here but it's not moving," he said. "Could be engine trouble."

"It's not," Gibbs replied feeling his gut coiling tightly.

"You think he's had an accident?"

"Call the MSP. Tell them we have a federal agent in trouble and need the troopers out there now," Gibbs said walking briskly from the bullpen.

"Where will you be?"

"With the director," he said taking the stairs two at a time. "Gonna need a chopper."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

The silence that filled the car was broken only by the intermittent sound of snow and ice clumps raining down from the branches of the large tree. Tony groaned softly as the abused muscles in his neck and shoulders protested. He did a quick inventory of his body checking for other injuries. His legs had been battered against the underside of the console and steering column. He flexed them cautiously, relieved when they seemed fine. He almost gagged at the coppery taste of blood on his lips; the result of a bloody nose from the deployed airbag.

With the windows gone the cold temperature quickly engulfed him and he fumbled with the buttons of his coat. Gingerly he released his seat belt and started to look for his cell when he heard voices from the ridge above.

"Damn," he cursed softly realising he had to get moving.

He pushed open his door and extricated himself from the twisted remains of the SUV; his legs trembled with a mixture of cold and dissipating adrenalin. The voices behind him grew louder but the men were still blocked from his view. Knowing they would check the car; he started across the downward slope, intending to take cover in a large group of trees twenty yards from his position.

A shout was followed by several shots that kicked up the snow at his feet. Throwing himself to his right, Tony tucked a shoulder and rolled upright again, instantly adopting his firing stance. Raising his weapon in a two-handed grip he fired a salvo in the direction of the voices and resumed his dash for the cover of the trees. A second volley of shots sounded and a sharp cry burst from the agent's lips as his body jerked violently and dropped face first into the snow. The three men emerged from the ridge and slowly made their way toward the agent, their feet slipping and sliding in the virgin snow. They were within ten yards of their quarry when Tony's body twisted and he aimed his Sig Sauer with deadly intent.

"Federal agent, drop your weapons," Tony yelled from his prone position.

Taken completely by surprise the men stilled for an instant before one chanced his hand and brought his gun to bear. Tony moved faster, double-tapping the man's chest as his accomplices scrambled for cover. By the time the men returned fire, Tony had slipped and stumbled into the cover of the trees.

Crouching low behind the fallen trunk of a large oak tree, his chest heaved and his breath steamed from his mouth with each exhalation. Ejecting the clip from his weapon, Tony checked his ammunition. Four bullets left – not nearly enough to take the offensive against two armed assailants but enough to defend himself. Right now, evasion was his best hope of staying alive until the cavalry arrived. Glancing at his watch a feeling of dread washed over him as realised there was another hour until his next scheduled check-in. But there was no doubt in Tony's mind that Gibbs would come for him and the thought gave him the strength to push any dark thoughts from his mind.

He blanched at the sight of his own deep footprints, knowing that his pursuers would have no trouble tracking him in this pristine snow. The sound of running water caught his attention and through the dense forest undergrowth, he glimpsed a stream at the bottom of the steep slope. The descent wouldn't be easy but if he could make it to the stream without being seen, he could leave a false trail for the gunmen and head back to the road for help. He knew it was a long shot but, at the moment, he had little option.

Slipping and sliding, he waded awkwardly through snow that varied in depth. The smooth soles of his street boots were totally unsuitable for this kind of terrain and made the descent more hazardous. He'd already lost his footing and tumbled several times; he was shivering uncontrollably now, the bitter cold seeping through his clothes. He was losing precious body heat and had to force himself to keep moving.

Somewhere behind him, the burden of snow became too great for a small branch that snapped loudly and fell to the ground. Startled, Tony spun quickly, brandishing his Sig in that direction. The snow beneath his feet gave way and his arms and legs flailed wildly as _he tumbled, head over heels, down _the _slope. _S_now_ and sky alternated in his field of vision and he felt an odd sensation of weightlessness, followed abruptly by the bone-jarring crunch of violent impact. His whole body slammed into something with incredible force and a loud snapping noise filled his ears. Pinpricks of light burst across his vision and he heard himself scream…then everything went dark.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

A/N Thanks for reading. Special Christmas wishes for you and your family. With every good wish, L


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional.**

A/N Absolutely overwhelmed by your kind reviews and alerts, L

**When The Snow Lay Round About**

**Chapter Two**

The severe snowstorm that had been forecast for Maryland later that evening had been preceded by heavy fog and low visibility that had resulted in a major traffic accident on I-68. With an estimated forty vehicles involved, police and emergency services units had called for military assistance to help free the victims from the wreckage and transport the injured to hospital as soon as possible.

Knocking quietly on the door of the director's office, McGee turned the handle and waited to be invited in. Vance gestured for the younger man to enter and then returned his attention to his telephone conversation. McGee's gaze shifted to Gibbs who was standing in front of the plasma screen watching the live news coverage of the accident.

"I spoke with MSP, Boss," he said. "Due to the accident, they won't have any available units to check the coordinates of Tony's cell for several hours."

"You sure DiNozzo's not caught up in that?" Gibbs asked jerking a thumb at the carnage on the screen.

"Unlikely. The accident occurred between Frostburg and Cumberland. The signal from Tony's cell is coming from the other side of Cumberland, at least twenty miles from there. But there's something else…"

As the director joined them, McGee paused until he'd received a nod to continue.

"I got a hit on my BOLO," he told them. "The Garrett County Sheriff located a body just out of Deep Creek Lake. Face is unrecognisable but…the driver's licence says Eddie Muldoon."

"DiNozzo's informant?" Vance asked.

He watched as a hint of emotion flashed across his lead agent's face, disappearing as his professional detachment returned and he nodded curtly.

"There's a Navy Knighthawk gearing up at Anacostia," the director told them. "It has orders to help with the evacuation of people injured on the interstate. They've agreed to get you to Hancock where there'll be a car waiting for you. Go. Keep me informed."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0 **

After several minutes spent slipping, sliding and cursing down the mountainside, the two gunmen made it safely to the bottom. They walked watchfully toward the inert body sprawled just a few yards away. This man had played possum once before and Gianni Rosetti's lack of caution had cost him his life.

"Jesus," the reed-thin Mickey Kane gasped. "Is he dead?"

Frank Coffey moved closer, grimacing at the macabre sight of Tony's bloodied right foot. The rusted steel jaws of a bear-trap had snapped shut just above the agent's ankle, slicing through tissue and muscle and snapping the bones like dry twigs. Only the metal spacers prevented the jaws from closing completely and severing the foot. He narrowed his dark eyes and watched the agent's chest until he detected its shallow rise and fall.

"He's not dead yet," Coffey replied raising his handgun, taking aim at the unconscious man's head.

"Wait!" Kane said taking hold of the man's arm.

"You know why we're here, Mickey," Coffey replied. "The guy's half dead anyway. May as well put him out of his misery."

"You pull that trigger and you'll kill a fed. That's a capital crime," Kane argued. "Look around you, Frank…we're in the middle of freakin' nowhere. The fog's already settled and there's a snowstorm coming. I'm not gonna face the death penalty for killing a fed when we can walk away and let him expire all by himself…"

The larger man considered for a long moment before he holstered his weapon and nodded his agreement.

"What about Gianni?"

"There's nothing we can do about him," Kane reasoned. "We'll bury him in the snow and by the time they find the body we'll be long gone."

"Let's get out of here."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Arriving at Anacostia Naval Air Station, Gibbs and McGee were quickly kitted out with extreme cold weather parkas, trousers and RAT boots and were each provided with a fully equipped survival pack. They climbed aboard the Knighthawk buckling themselves into their seats, donning their helmets and activating their communication devices.

"Agent Gibbs," the young Naval officer said. "Our orders are to drop you at Potomac Airpark before carrying on to assist with the evacuation of the injured. We only have a small window of opportunity before the storm forces us to set down. Sorry we can't help you look for your agent, Sir."

"Understood, Commander."

"Sir, if you give me the coordinates of the last position your agent signaled from, once we drop you off we'll fly this bird over the site. See if we can spot anything."

"Appreciate that, Skipper," Gibbs replied. "What's our ETA?"

"We're flying into extreme headwinds, Sir. ETA is at least an hour."

A cold feeling of doom tried to settle in Gibbs' gut, but he shoved it aside.

'_Hang on, Tony,'_ he thought as the helicopter lifted off. _'We're coming for you.'_

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

As he lay there, gasping and shivering, Tony gradually became aware that the persistent buzz in his head was the sound of his own moaning. Opening his eyes he took a moment to focus them and then, confused, he blinked rapidly as large damp snowflakes impaled themselves on his long eyelashes and landed on his face. It took another moment for his brain to engage enough for him to realise that he was looking skyward, watching the _huge_ soft _flakes_ drift down from an overcast sky.

The memory of being pursued returned and crashed over him like a tsunami. He heaved his shoulders upward causing a spear of pure agony to shoot up his leg. The pain, too enormous for his brain to process, exploded into brilliant, multi-coloured sparks behind his eyes. As he clung to consciousness by a thread, a strangled cry spilled from him; a mere shadow of the scream that wouldn't come.

Collapsing back onto the snow, excruciating pain pulsed with every beat of his heart until his entire body was haloed in a red haze of agony. He saw his leg trapped in the steel jaws of a forty-pound bear trap and gasped at the sight of his blood soaked into his jeans from the calf down. Gritting his teeth, he attempted to wriggle his toes and a tortured moan worked its way free. While the pain was unbearable at least he knew his foot was still attached.

Looking around, he spotted two sets of tracks leading to and away from his position and already starting to disappear with the falling snow. He reasoned that his pursuers had likely found him and left him for dead. Pain and panic overwhelmed him as his eyes followed the heavy chain attached to one end of the trap and staked firmly into the trunk of a large oak tree. His heart hammered against his sternum as he drew his Sig and took aim at the base of the stake, firing frantically until the firing pin clicked on the empty chamber. Mindful not to move his leg, Tony grabbed the chain with both hands, pulling as hard as he could. But after several long minutes of exhaustive pulling the stake remained firmly embedded in the tree trunk.

With a laugh that sounded more than a little hysterical, Tony realised that if the trap had been designed to hold a four hundred pound bear, he had no chance of breaking free. He felt his eyes flood with helpless raging tears. Swallowing the knotted misery in his throat, his breath caught in a sob and he clamped his lips to deny it life. Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to calm.

"Now would b-be good, B-boss," he whispered, shivering uncontrollably.

He caught movement in his peripheral vision and brandished his empty weapon in that direction as a young man in his early twenties gasped loudly, screwed his eyes tightly closed and placed his hands over his ears. Dark-haired, tall and broad shouldered, the young man stood stock-still.

"Don't shoot me, don't shoot me, don't shoot me," he repeated over and over.

"S'kay…I'm not…not going t-to shoot you," Tony said, re-holstering his Sig. "I need your help…"

The man opened one eye and then the other before crossing his arms across his chest in a self-hug and rocking his body in an anxious motion. Wide brown eyes met Tony's for an instant before he looked at the bear trap, frowned and ran away.

"No! D-don't g-go!" Tony pleaded.

Momentarily distracted, he moved his leg and an explosion of pain took his breath away. When he was finally able to draw air back into his lungs, it was expelled in an agonized scream as the pain fractured all thoughts. Blood was pumping furiously in his ears and he had to strain to hear anything else. Unconsciousness beckoned but he fought it with everything he had. He glanced _skyward_ with a _look_ of dread, knowing the clouds gathering above him were preparing to unload their wintry burden. Idly he wondered whether blood loss or hypothermia would kill him first.

"N-nice to have a ch-choice," he laughed humourlessly.

For the next twenty minutes Tony called for help and desperately tried to extricate himself from the trap but every method he tried provoked excruciating pain as the cold metal teeth sunk deeper into his leg flesh. Half out of his head in pain and desperation, he buried his foot in the snow until he could no longer feel it. Removing his scarf, he tied it just below his knee and used a nearby stick to twist it as tight as he could stand. Filling his lungs with the frigid mountain air he forced his grief and impotent rage deep inside where they belonged…and then he reached for his belt and unsheathed his knife.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Carrying their heavy survival packs by the straps, Gibbs and McGee ran at a crouch to avoid the rotor-blades of the Knighthawk as it dropped them at Potomac Airpark and lifted off again, heading for the pile-up on the 68.

The agents looked up to see a man wearing a thick parka and earmuffs gesturing them over. Guy Sanders was the on-duty supervisor at Potomac Airpark and he had been assigned with coordinating the rescue aircraft. Having taken a call earlier from Director Vance, Sanders led the agents to a light coloured SUV and helped them stow their gear in the back. Gibbs noted that the snow-chains had already been fitted.

"They may slow your speed but the roads are icy and once that snow-storm hits you'll never get out without them," he told them.

True to his word, the commander of the Knighthawk flew to the coordinates of the faint signal still being emitted from Tony's cell and reported seeing a dark SUV approximately twenty yards down the side of the mountain. Due to the thick fog cover and the building storm, the crew of the chopper could see little else and were forced to move on. Sanders produced a map of the area and marked Tony's crash-site with a large X.

"Director Vance said you believe your agent is badly injured," Sanders said.

"He'd have made contact if he wasn't," Gibbs replied.

"Then I hope he stayed with the vehicle," Sanders said turning back to the map and making another mark. "There's a few remote homes out there but the nearest is three miles back the way he came. It's well signposted so he may have noticed it…guess it depends on how observant he is."

"Tony's a crime scene investigator," McGee chimed in defensively.

Sanders held up both hands apologetically.

"Hey, I'm just saying, with the weather like it is and if he's badly hurt…he'd probably never make it back there."

"Who lives there?" Gibbs asked.

"The Gearys. Nice woman. Moved in with her husband and their boy a couple of years ago. The husband died not long after…heart attack as I recall."

The icy wind stepped up several notches as the snow drifted down from the heavens at a greater velocity.

"If the weather gets worse, you head for Mrs Geary's," Sanders continued. "She'll find you a room for the night. I'll give her a call, let her know to expect ya."

Nodding his thanks, Gibbs and McGee climbed into the car and headed out to look for their missing agent.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

"Mister? Mister, wake up?" the young man called. "You gotta wake up now, Mister."

The distress in the voice and the irritating tapping against his cheek brought Tony slowly back from unconsciousness. Before he'd even opened his eyes, he felt the cold seeping through his clothes and the snow falling on his skin. He felt his knife in his gloved hand and frantically looked at his bloodied and broken foot still ensnared in the trap and, more importantly, still attached to his leg. A mixture of relief and cowardice washed over him as he realised he'd passed out before he could cut it off. Big, slow gasps of frigid air gave space for reason to return and as his vision cleared, he recognised the wide dark eyes of the young man leaning over him.

"You c-came back," Tony whispered.

The young man nodded soberly as he placed an old blanket over Tony's upper body.

"I needed my things," he replied. "I'm going to help you but you can't tell my Momma I was here, okay?"

The young man chewed his bottom lip anxiously as he waited for an answer.

"Your…your Momma?" Tony blinked heavily.

"Momma doesn't like me near the stream 'cause I can't swim," he continued as he inspected the trap. "But near the stream is where I find the best wood."

"The best wood-" Tony stared in confusion as his sluggish brain tried to make sense of the conversation.

Summoning his observation skills, he figured the young man to be at least six foot three with the powerful build of a linebacker…but something wasn't right. He hummed to himself and rocked gently back and forth as he rifled through a canvas bag. Realising that Tony had not answered his question, he raised his head and briefly met the agent's gaze before looking away self-consciously.

"You promise you won't tell?" he asked quietly.

"I won't tell," Tony rasped. "What's your n-name?"

"Sam. My name is Sam. I was named after my Dad," he said proudly.

"I'm Tony. I was named after my Dad, too," Tony replied through chattering teeth, as Sam's face lit up in a delighted smile. "Sam, I'm hurt pretty b-bad. I need you to find someone to get me out of this trap."

The smile on Sam's face disappeared as his face clouded over.

"Traps are bad," he said. "There's not supposed to be traps in the forest. Momma says traps are left by bad men."

Tony concentrated on keeping his leg as still as possible but his constant trembling was sending shafts of pain shooting through his body at regular intervals.

"Listen to me, Sam," Tony replied, struggling to remain calm as the snowfall became heavier. He unclipped his badge from his belt and gave it to the young man. "I need you to find someone…give them this badge and bring them back here."

"You're a policeman?"

"Yeah, Sam…I'm a policeman," Tony gasped through the pain.

"Momma says policemen are our friends."

"Your Mom's right..."

Sam's eyes grew impossibly wide and his jaw dropped open.

"I've never had a friend before," he whispered reverently. "Momma says it's because I'm different."

Gingerly, Tony managed to sit up despite the pain and nausea the movement caused. He extended his hand to Sam, surprised by the strength and firmness in the young man's grip.

"I'll be your friend, Sam," Tony said as the wind bit cruelly through the blanket draped around him. "But right now, I need you to find someone to open this trap."

"I told you, silly, _I_ can open the trap," Sam insisted, producing two C-clamps from his bag. "Sometimes I find animals in traps like this one and I use my clamps to help them."

"That…that works?" Tony asked skeptically.

"Sure!" Sam replied then chewed his lip again as tears filled his wide brown eyes. "But sometimes they're hurt too bad and they die. I don't want you to die, Tony. "

The agent looked at the ominous clouds overhead - he didn't want to die either.

"Storm's almost here, Sam…let's do this."

Sam carefully positioned the C-clamps over the large springs on either end of the trap and nodded solemnly to Tony as he slowly began to tighten them. As the metal jaws reluctantly started to separate, traumatised and severed nerve endings started to spasm. Tony gritted his teeth and suffered, mostly, in silence as his fingernails dug into the palms of his fisted hands. Once the trap was opened wide enough, Sam stopped tightening the clasps and looked at Tony with tear-filled eyes.

"Don't pull. Okay, Tony?" he said with the haunted look of a man who had seen what could happen. "Just don't pull."

Unable to find his voice, Tony nodded, watching as the young man bravely placed his hands inside the jaws of the trap and gently freed Tony's foot. The grind of bone on bone sent agony shooting through his leg as his boot filled with blood and pain pulled the air from his lungs. He tried to scream but couldn't make a sound as spots danced across his vision and everything became a mixed up jumble of colour and sound.

Tony felt himself lifted easily onto the young man's broad shoulders and carried in a fireman's hold. His body jostled agonisingly as Sam stumbled under the added weight, murmuring frantically to himself over and over. Panic took hold of him and Tony tried to lift his head to confirm he still had both feet attached. But the ground seemed to surge up then sink down with every step Sam took and a hot wave of nausea crested over him. Disoriented and with his head imploding with pain…this time when the darkness beckoned he gladly tumbled into it.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

The trip from Hancock was frustratingly slow and tedious due to the worsening snowfall and the 30mph restriction of the snow chains but despite the overcast conditions, the break in the guardrail was easily located. Parking the vehicle by the side of the road and switching the hazard lights on, Gibbs and McGee cautiously made their way down to Tony's SUV. A sickening feeling of dread coiled tightly in the former Marine's gut he rounded the vehicle and found it empty.

Tony's cell was on the floor on the passenger side of the car, still attached to the charger and the driver's airbag had engaged. Although he should have been relieved, Gibbs took no consolation in the fact that the only evidence of his agent's blood was a minute amount on the deflated airbag.

"Boss," McGee called from the rear. "Looks like the windows were shot out and the car was rammed from behind."

"Dammit," Gibbs cursed vehemently under his breath. "Spread out. Take a look around."

McGee held his tongue. They both knew the heavy snowfall would have obliterated any tracks but he pulled the hood of his parka over his head and set out, calling Tony's name and hoping for a miracle. He hadn't gone more than forty feet when he stumbled over the uneven ground and fell face first into the snow. A cold foreboding crawled up his spine and he brushed the snow from a small mound and then scrambled away in horror as he uncovered a body.

"Boss!" McGee called.

He heard the crunching of the thinly crusted snow as Gibbs made his way quickly to his side and took a knee beside the body. He placed a supportive hand on Tim's shoulder.

"It's not Tony," he said, somehow knowing without looking.

They uncovered the rest of the body and rolled him onto his back to make the identification.

"Gianni Rosetti," McGee said, raising his voice over the increased howl of the wind. "We weren't told he was back in the country. Should've known he'd come looking for Tony."

"Double-tap to the heart," Gibbs said. "Tony found him first."

The agents struggled against the buffeting winds as they rose to their feet. They continued the search for their missing teammate; calling his name and straining their ears for any response. They walked for twenty minutes, awkwardly wading through snow that came up to their knees but finding no evidence or tracks.

"Boss!" McGee called, reaching out to grab the lead agents shoulder. "Boss, it's no use! We'll never find him in this storm. We have to go back! We need to find shelter."

Gibbs' face remained expressionless but a myriad of emotions flickered in his eyes. He looked at the younger man, noting his reddened eyes and nose, the bluish tinge to his lips and the start of windburn on his pale cheeks. Although his heart insisted they continue to search, his head could not risk the life of one agent to save another. Swallowing convulsively around the lump in his throat, Gibbs' resolve faltered briefly before he found his voice.

"We'll go back."

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-o00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0**

**A/N ~ I hope you enjoyed that chapter - thanks for reading. **

**May 2013 fill your home with joy, your heart with love & your life with laughter. Happy New Year! L**


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional.

A/N Apologies for the delay. It's not easy to write about snowstorms when we're having a heatwave. As always, overwhelmed by the kind reviews, alerts and interest in this story, L

**When The Snow Lay Round About**

**Chapter Three**

With his chest heaving and his breath misting in the frigid air, Sam stumbled into the small single room shed. The previous winter's heavy snowfall and high winds had left it in a sorry state of disrepair with major damage to the roof and walls…but this was still Sam's special place.

Once used for equipment storage by the forestry service, the shed was abandoned long ago. Sam's dad had used it as a "men's only" retreat and spent many hours teaching his son to hand carve wooden figurines and to tie fishing lures. They took long walks together while he taught his son to care for animals and nature and although there was no power or water, they had often camped there together in the summer, talking and laughing until the early hours of the morning. Sam didn't usually like the dark but with his father by his side and a small camp fire, he knew he would come to no harm.

Precariously balancing the unconscious agent across his strong back, Sam spotted their old sleeping bags in the corner. Using one hand he awkwardly spread one of the bags onto the damp floor before gently guiding Tony's descent from his shoulders. Grunting with effort, Sam removed the agent's wet coat and reached for the other sleeping bag. He stilled instantly as he recognised the familiar aroma. Squeezing his eyes closed, he inhaled the fading scent of his father's shampoo and deodorant and felt his heart clench with sorrow. A soft moan from the agent disturbed his thoughts and he tucked the bag over Tony's unconscious form.

"Tony? Tony, wake up!" he said anxiously. "There's a bad storm coming - I don't like storms."

Tony eyes opened slowly. Dulled with confusion and pain, he was past being aware of where he was or who was with him.

"Boss?"

"No, Tony, it's me. It's your friend, Sam."

Tony frowned, trying hard to remember what had happened. He tried to see past the murkiness in his brain, knowing the answers were there somewhere, but the pain in his leg and the onset of hypothermia was fracturing all thoughts. Scattered memory fragments replayed in his mind at great speed but with little cohesion...a car...shooting...an accident...running...

"They tried to…to kill me," he mumbled.

Sam's eyes grew wide with fear.

"Who?"

"Men…two men with…with guns…"

The pain and effort to remember taxed what little strength he had and Tony felt himself fade out again.

"Tony?" Sam whispered tentatively as he leaned forward to shake the agent's shoulder. "Tony, wake up!"

Tony's head lolled to one side - just as Sam's father's had the day of his heart attack. His father never woke up again.

"No!" he sobbed as tears spilled from his eyes. "Tony, no!"

Sam's mind was spinning. He couldn't think. He needed to find his Mom. She would know what to do. She always knew what to do when Sam was frightened and confused. A cold blast of artic-like wind ripped a sheet of corrugated iron from the roof and sent it crashing to the ground. Terrified, Sam cried out in alarm; the storm was getting worse. He looked back at Tony but the agent lay frighteningly still. Panic overwhelmed him and he tore open the door and ran for home as fast as he could.

**0-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

As the temperature dropped, the snowstorm continued to build in intensity, reducing visibility and forming black ice on the road's surface. Gibbs and McGee travelled in silence; the weight of Tony's life pressing down on them.

They had almost made it back to Hancock when a fallen tree blocked the road and forced the agents to seek alternate shelter. The airport supervisor, Guy Sanders had arranged emergency accommodation for them at the home of the Geary family and, after checking the map, Gibbs turned the SUV and headed for the nearby home.

"Boss," McGee said, breaking the silence. "How did Gianni Rosetti get to the accident site? The only car there was Tony's."

"He had company," Gibbs replied.

"Or Tony took the car?" McGee said hopefully.

"He would have made contact."

His hopes dashed, McGee's shoulders slumped as he looked outside at the desolate snow scape. In the years he'd known him, Tony had experienced many close calls but if he was lost and hurt out there…McGee shuddered and forced the thought from his mind. Flashing lights up ahead had the agent leaning forward in the passenger seat to peer through the ice-crusted windshield.

"Boss?"

"I see her."

An old model station wagon was pulled to the side of the road and a woman was flagging them down. As Gibbs stopped the SUV alongside the other vehicle, McGee wound down his window.

"Oh thank God!" the woman said, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she unsuccessfully tried to keep warm.

"Ma'am, are you hurt?" McGee asked.

"No, no," came the shaky reply. "The engine just stopped and I can't get it started. I need to get home to my son."

"McGee," Gibbs said nodding his head toward the woman.

The IT Specialist jumped from the passenger seat and opened the rear door. The attractive blonde woman in her mid-fifties, hesitated slightly until the agent fumbled in the pockets of his parka and produced his badge and ID.

"It's okay, Ma'am, we're federal agents."

Smiling sheepishly, the woman introduced herself as Donna Geary and climbed into the vehicle. Donna explained that she had been hurrying home to her son after delivering her homemade pies and bread to the local restaurants and general stores.

"I was only supposed to be gone an hour but they closed the road after the accident and it took an eternity to convince the troopers to let me through. My son, Sam, hates storms; he'll be terrified."

"You left your boy alone?" Gibbs scowled.

Donna smiled sadly.

"My son is twenty-six years old, Agent Gibbs, but he's intellectually challenged. That's why I'm so grateful for the ride," she cocked her head as another thought occurred. "What's a pair of federal agents doing out this way?"

The explanation of Tony's disappearance was concise but Donna could hear the worry in every word.

"Guy Sanders told us that you may be willing to put us up for the night if the weather closed in," McGee said. "He was going to call ahead to let you know."

"He may have left a message on my home machine. I don't have a cell," Donna shrugged. "But you're welcome to stay till the storm passes, we have plenty of room and Sam will be pleased to have company...he misses his Dad."

Arriving at the Geary home they hurried inside out of the weather and shrugged off their parkas and boots. Donna led them into the living room before walking up the hallway to Sam's room.

"Sammy!" her panicked cry had both agents on her heels in seconds as she crouched beside her son.

Soaked to the skin and trembling from cold, Sam sat in the corner of his room anxiously rocking back and forth. With tears still streaking down his face he looked up in surprise and then scrambled away in terror as the two strangers, armed with guns, entered his room. McGee and Gibbs backed away, allowing Donna to calm her son and help him into some warm clothes. Fifteen minutes passed before she led him to the large couch in the living room and placed a blanket around his shoulders. Placing a kiss on the top of his dark head, she walked across the room where Gibbs was building a fire in the fireplace.

"I don't know what's wrong," she whispered to the agents. "Something other than the storm frightened him but he won't tell me what happened."

"Boss, maybe he saw what happened to Tony," McGee said hopefully.

Gibbs glanced across the room at the young man; something had definitely rattled the kid. Sam's arms were crossed tightly over his chest in a self-hug, his eyes darted agitatedly around the room and his breath hitched in an occasional sob.

"Mind if I talk to him?" Gibbs asked.

Donna looked from her distressed son to the stranger standing before her. She wanted to say no; her need to protect her son from physical and emotional harm was the focus of her life. But as she met the lead agent's eyes she saw the tightly suppressed worry of another parent and she smiled weakly.

"Of course not."

Gibbs walked slowly toward the young man who watched him warily through long dark lashes.

"Sam, my name is Gibbs," he said, wincing slightly as Sam turned away.

He took a seat on the overstuffed armchair, rebounding quickly when he felt something under his butt. A small, hand-carved deer had been left on the couch and, intrigued, the agent examined it closely.

"You make this?" he asked, seeing the brown eyes fleetingly glance his way. "It's a good job. Good detail."

Sam looked away again and Gibbs slumped heavily into the chair and looked to the large picture window. The snow was now blowing horizontally and Gibbs' felt his chest tighten at the thought that his agent was out there somewhere.

"Sam…I need your help," Gibbs said quietly. "I'm looking for someone. He might be hurt…lost in the snow. Need to know if you've seen him."

Sam frantically shook his head as he continued to rock back and forth uneasily. Gibbs nodded to McGee who handed the team leader a photo of Tony taken on his cell.

"You seen this man?" Gibbs asked holding the cell out to Sam.

When the younger man made no attempt to look at it, Gibbs persevered, the timbre of his voice resonating with a rarely heard gentleness.

"Sam…please?"

Curiosity got the better of him and Sam chanced a look at the photo. Gibbs saw the flicker of recognition in the young man's eyes before he looked away again.

"His name's Tony…he could be hurt," Gibbs said. "You're not in trouble, Sam. We just gotta find him. We want to help him."

Again, Sam shook his head frantically but this time, a small sob escaped and more tears spilled down his cheeks. Gibbs took a deep composing breath as a feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

"If Tony's hurt…we need to find him," the former Marine said.

"No, no, no, no, no!" Sam sobbed, placing his hands over his ears. "Go away…go way!"

Donna quickly moved to her distraught son's side, wrapping her arms around him and uttering assurances. As Gibbs stood to give them a moment, Sam gasped as he caught sight of the gold badge clipped to the agent's belt. Gibbs followed the young man's line of sight and his heart skipped a beat as he reached for his badge.

"Sam, have you seen one of these before?" he asked.

"It's very shiny," Sam said as he put his hand into his pocket and withdrew Tony's badge. "Just like Tony's. Tony's badge is very shiny."

"Sammy…where did you get this?" Donna asked. "Where did you get that badge?"

"Tony gave it to me, Momma. I didn't take it, honest."

Gibbs took a knee by the young man's side.

"Sam, listen to me. I need to find Tony so I can help him. You gotta tell me where he is."

A mournful sob burst from Sam's lips.

"You can't help him anymore." Sam used his shirtsleeve to wipe his eyes and his voice hitched frequently as he explained. "Tony's got his foot caught in a bear trap."

"Oh God," McGee whispered.

"He was hurt real bad but…but I got him out, Momma, I got him out all by myself with my C-clamps, just like Dad showed me," Sam said, speaking quickly and wringing his hands anxiously. "Not supposed to be traps in the forest, traps are bad, they kill animals and…"

"Sam, where is he?" Gibbs said with growing impatience. "Where's Tony?"

"I couldn't carry him no more," he said, his brown eyes swimming with tears. "I got him to the shed but then he stopped talking…just like my Dad when he died."

The genuine grief in the young man's words impacted like a kick in the guts and for an instant the former Marine despaired…but he had seen DiNozzo give the bird to the grim reaper too many times to give up on him now. Gibbs turned to look at Donna, working hard at appearing casual but his eyes were frantic with worry.

"I need to find this shed," he said. "Tony could still be alive."

"It's about two miles from here. I can draw you a map but in this storm, you may never find it."

"I'll find it," he said noting that McGee was already gearing up. "Stand down, McGee."

McGee's jaw dropped in surprise.

"Call the director," Gibbs said, sorting through the contents of the two survival packs. "I wanna know how the hell Gianni Rosetti got into the country without us knowing about it. Then call Ziva; Rosetti had company…I wanna know who they were by the time we get back."

"Boss, I can make those calls and still go with you," McGee insisted.

Gibbs shook his head as he zipped up his parka but it was the look he fired in his agent's direction that silenced McGee's objection.

"I wanna rescue team, a corpsman and a chopper on the way the minute the storm clears. They'll need someone to lead 'em in," Gibbs said. "I'll find DiNozzo...you lead the rescue team."

Donna returned to the living room with a smaller bag containing assorted clothing.

"You'll need some warm clothes," she told him.

She handed him a hastily drawn map and pointed out a few landmarks he needed to look out for. Hoisting the large pack on to his back he started for the door, turning back when he heard Sam's exclamation.

"Wait!"

Sam disappeared into his bedroom then hurried back, with a thick woollen cap.

"My Momma made this for me," he said. "Give it to Tony to keep his ears warm."

Gibbs eyes softened and his lips quirked in a half-smile.

"Look after your Mom," he said chucking the young man under the chin.

His departure was halted a second time when McGee offered one final plea.

"Boss, _please_," he said. "Let me come with you."

The desperation in his agent's voice caused a twinge of remorse but Gibbs cast it aside. Sub-zero temperatures, limited visibility and fading daylight stood between him and Tony and the former Marine was well aware that he could be embarking on a one way trip. Should he lose his way and perish in the storm, he needed to know that McGee would survive.

"Got one agent in trouble," Gibbs said over his shoulder as he walked to the door. "Don't need another."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—0**

The force of the wind almost tore the door from his gloved hand as Gibbs stepped out into the snowstorm. In the short time they had been at the Geary home, the temperature had dropped notably and he coughed abruptly as the frigid air hit his lungs. His cheeks erupted in fiery pain caused by the icy winds and he adjusted his snow goggles and pulled the hood of his parker until there was no exposed skin. Looking skyward he knew the temperature would drop further as the sun slipped below the horizon and after checking his watch and his compass, he set off in search of the small shed and his injured agent.

For almost two hours, Gibbs battled buffeting winds; awkwardly stumbling through knee-deep snow and making painfully slow headway. Although he was well protected by the extreme cold weather gear borrowed from the Navy, he felt the cold creeping slowly through his limbs and into his body. The heavy snowfall and high wind speeds combined to create hazardous snowdrifts and reduced the visibility to 20 to 30 feet. He'd lost his footing several times in the slippery conditions as he desperately searched for the last of the landmarks noted on Donna's map - a large double-trunk oak tree, blackened and scarred from a fierce lightning strike. Once he located the right tree, the shed and his agent would only be two hundred yards beyond.

Denied the reassurance that Tony was still alive, a feeling of doom tried to settle in his gut but he shoved it aside. His muscles trembled with fatigue as weariness turned to exhaustion and it became harder to move his aching limbs forward. Aware that every second was crucial in saving Tony's life, Gibbs cranked up the pace but lost his balance on the uneven ground and fell heavily. Trying to compensate for the weight of the survival pack, his right knee twisted and he grunted as he felt something tear.

Shrugging off the pack and cursing in pain, he wrapped both gloved hands around the injured knee, knowing from experience that he'd torn the cruciate ligament. Grabbing a fistful of snow he hurled it furiously into forest venting his frustration at the top of his lungs. Gibbs had pushed himself beyond his physical limit and his dodgy knee had betrayed him. His mind reeled with dark thoughts of body recoveries instead of rescues; of his badly injured agent waiting for a rescue that would arrive too late. He lay gasping for several moments, watching the snow fall in silent defiance and willing his composure to return.

His heart skipped a beat as he squinted through the falling snow to see the blackened and scarred double-trunk of the large oak tree landmark. If the directions were correct, the shed was just two hundred yards away. He shrugged his pack onto his shoulders and sat up, forcing his impotent anger and frustration deep inside where they belonged. Gingerly he rose to his feet; he knew he was about to do more damage to his knee but his fear for Tony overrode his self-preservation.

Riding the adrenaline surge that allowed him to forget how tired he was, he gritted his teeth and broke into an uneven gait as he headed onward toward the shed. He would do this…and he would bring his agent home.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-0 **

A/N:- Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional.

A/N- Totally, completely and utterly overwhelmed and thankful for the lovely reviews and support of this story. L

**When The Snow Lay Round About**

**Chapter Four**

Gibbs braced himself against the howling winds that whipped the falling snow into frenzy and threatened to knock him off his feet. Visibility was reducing rapidly as the sun sought refuge from the storm in the horizon's protective embrace. Gibbs bent at the waist, breathing deeply and gingerly probing his injured right knee where a substantial amount of swelling had already formed.

Despite several layers of clothing, the straps of the survival pack were cutting into his shoulders and the added weight exacerbated the pain from his knee. Had he not been certain he would need every item it contained, he would have discarded it long ago. Swiping the sleeve of his parka across his goggles to clear them, he looked around at the snowscape and cursed under his breath.

'_Where the hell is the damn shed?'_

Donna's map had placed the shed two hundred yards beyond the large double-trunk oak tree. His stomach dropped as he realised that he may have set off in the wrong direction. Hoping to regain his bearings, he began to retrace his own deep footprints knowing that if he didn't find shelter soon he would perish in the sub-zero temperature. Something among the trees to the right caught his eye and, ignoring the agony from his injured knee, he was running before he realised it. Tony's name burst from his lips even before he reached the door of the shed.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Tim McGee stood in the living room, staring out of the large picture window at the blizzard outside. He watched the snow falling from the night sky; an infinite number of tiny white stars that had lost their hold on the heavens. He hated waiting and not knowing. More times than not his own fertile imagination inflicted greater suffering than reality – he hoped like hell it would be that way again.

He understood why Gibbs had ordered him to stand down but that didn't make the order any easier to obey. In life and death situations, every member of the team needed to do what they did best. Gibbs was a man of action; a man who was currently risking his life in search of his injured agent. McGee had wanted desperately to go with him but he knew the best way he could help his teammates was to brief the director and to have a rescue team and chopper ready to move at first light or the minute the storm cleared.

The shudder that danced down his spine told him he was being watched and he turned to see the distress in Sam's dark eyes as he sat by the fireplace nervously rocking back and forth.

"Hey, Sam," he said with forced cheerfulness. "I thought you were watching the movie with your Mom."

Sam shook his head and averted his eyes.

"You worried about Tony?" the agent asked.

The dark head changed direction and nodded emphatically.

"Tony's my friend," Sam said wringing his hands anxiously. "I left him in the storm and now he could be dead."

Hearing the words aloud sent a cold feeling of dread surging through the IT Specialist. Shoving his own fears aside, he took a seat on the other side of the fireplace and tried to reassure the younger man.

"You got him out of the trap, right?"

"But…but I couldn't carry him," Sam said, his eyes filling with tears.

"Listen to me, Sam. You got Tony to shelter and you told us where to find him," McGee stressed. "I don't know what's gonna happen but I know this…if anyone can find Tony, Gibbs can. And Tony's gonna be real proud of you."

The rocking stopped suddenly and Sam lifted his head. His dark eyes warily searched McGee's face for any hint of untruth. Seeing nothing but honesty, Sam beamed a smile as bright as a second sun and turned to see his mother standing at the door.

"Did you hear that, Momma? Tim said Tony's proud of me!"

"Of course he is, honey," she said, clearing the emotion from her voice with a quiet cough. "We're all proud of you."

She looked at the large Christmas tree standing unadorned in the corner of the room and tapped her lip with her index finger. It was a Geary family tradition not to decorate their tree until Christmas Eve but Donna was anxious to find something to distract her son while they waited for news.

"Why don't we ask Tim if he'll help us decorate our tree?" she asked.

With a frown, Sam climbed to his feet and checked the advent calendar hanging on the wall.

"It's not Christmas Eve until tomorrow," he said with a puzzled expression.

"Let's do it early this year," Donna suggested. "Besides, it doesn't look like any of us will be getting sleep tonight."

McGee looked through the window as the snowstorm continued unabated. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to decorate a Christmas tree. But Donna was right; none of them were likely to get any sleep until the storm lifted and the sun provided enough light to send in the rescue team.

"Tim?" Sam asked, his eyes shining with barely contained anticipation.

"Where're the decorations?" McGee asked him, rubbing his hands together in feigned eagerness. "We can't decorate the Christmas tree without decorations, right?"

With a whoop of excitement, Sam ran up the hallway to retrieve the Christmas decorations.

"Be careful," Donna called after him before directing a grateful smile toward McGee. "Thank you, Tim. He's been so worried about Tony…you gave him hope."

"I may have given him false hope," McGee replied sombrely.

Reaching forward, she gave the agent's shoulder a gentle squeeze and smiled sadly.

"Any hope is good hope."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

The door of the shed was thrown opened and banged loudly against the wall as Gibbs burst inside accompanied by a blast of icy wind and snow. It was bitterly cold inside, but as he closed the door the relief from the arctic-like winds was enormous.

"Tony!" Gibbs called, removing his snow goggles and willing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. "DiNozzo!"

A gasp tore from his lips as his vision adjusted and he saw his agent lying in a sleeping bag on the floor, as still as a stone effigy. Shrugging off the survival pack, he used his teeth to tear off his gloves and stumbled to Tony's side. Reaching out tentatively, he touched the younger man's face, cringing as the waxy, colourless skin felt cold even to his chilled fingers. His chest tightened at the sight of Tony's blue lips and the painful memories it evoked of days spent battling the aftermath of the pneumonic plague.

Tapping his agent's cheek, Gibbs called his name quietly but couldn't rouse him. He felt for Tony's carotid but couldn't determine between the younger man's pulse and his own trembling fingers.

"Don't do this, DiNozzo," Gibbs told him through chattering teeth. "We're not done yet. You hear me, Tony? We…are…not…done."

He leaned forward and pressed his ear against Tony's chest, releasing a long breath as he heard the slow but steady beating of his agent's heart.

"Atta boy, Tony" Gibbs rasped.

Pulling the heavy-duty flashlight from the pack, he scanned the scant surroundings with the skill of a crime scene investigator. In one quick glance he took in the woodworking tools on the workbench nearby, the slat chairs against the far wall and the supply of wood that was yet to be fashioned into Sam's new carvings. He gathered as many dry twigs, wood cuttings and pine-cones as he could reach and started a fire in the camp stove.

Taking his knife from its sheath, he turned his attention to Tony's injured leg and cut away the blood-sodden jeans. He felt the bile rise to the back of his throat at the sight of the torn and bloodied tissue and the stark jagged bone protruding through the skin.

"Aw hell," he muttered.

Carding agitated fingers through his short, silver hair, he tried to collect the scattered fragments of his composure. The Corps and NCIS had provided him with emergency first aid training and if he was going to get his agent safely home he was going to have to put it to the test.

"Resuscitate, emergent, urgent, less urgent," he muttered, reciting the triage order.

Having already ensured Tony's airway was unobstructed he turned his attention to the badly injured leg. Although there was considerable blood loss, Gibbs was grateful that the freezing conditions had slowed the blood flow to a trickle. Had Tony suffered this injury when the weather was warmer, he may well have bled out. He sorted through the comprehensive medical kit. Not for the first time, he was thankful for military efficiency and preparedness as he found everything he was looking for including Celox gauze; two pre-filled syringes of morphine; SAM splints; and space blankets. Add this to the camp stove, MRE's and warm clothes and Gibbs felt hopeful that he could get them through the night.

He irrigated the deep, jagged laceration and liberally sprinkled an antiseptic powder into the wound before gently packing the injury with Celox gauze and applying a field bandage. Removing Tony's boots, he eased the wet socks off his agent's feet; replacing them with a double layer of thick dry socks that Donna had provided. Unfurling a roll of SAM splint, he fashioned it into a shape that would immobilise the leg before securing it with a bandage and gently elevating it.

The fire crackled in the camp stove, illuminating the shed and giving Gibbs a better look at his agent's face. He found Tony's stillness disturbing. Still was one thing Tony DiNozzo didn't do except in extremes. Placing his hand at the side of the man's jaw, he spoke with a rare gentleness.

"Talk me to, Tony," he said, sighing at his agent's lack of response. "Come on, DiNozzo…gimme some yabba."

Lifting the front of his agent's wet sweater he placed his hand on Tony's abdomen and cursed at the lack of warmth. Tony's core body temperature was dangerously low and hypothermic. He needed warm, dry clothes and he needed them fast. Placing more wood-chips in the camp stove, he grabbed a pair of scissors, a small chamois and the warm clothes Donna had packed for them.

Tony moaned low in his throat as conscious function began to return. His eyelids flicked with movement before they finally opened but it took an agonisingly long moment for recognition to creep into glazed green eyes.

"Boss?" he whispered.

Gibbs was not a man comfortable with showing his emotions but the utter relief he felt at the sound of his agent's voice was almost his undoing. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and finally found his voice.

"Right here."

A spear of agony shot up Tony's leg and he arched his back off the ground, clenching his jaw to trap the scream that tried to escape as Gibbs held him tightly.

"I gotcha," the former Gunny told him. "I gotcha."

Tony took big, slow gasps of air until the pain slowly subsided, leaving him completely exhausted. His eyes closed and his head lolled to one side.

"Hey, Tony…stay with me," Gibbs told him, tapping his fingers on the younger man's face. "Gotta get you into some warm clothes."

Tony's eyes reflected his pain and confusion as he swatted Gibbs' hands away lethargically.

"Jusss…jusss wanna sssleep," he slurred worryingly and closed his eyes again.

Taking a firm hold of his agent's jaw he waited until Tony met his gaze.

"Listen to me. Are you listening?"

"…'m lissning…Boss."

"Clothes first, then you can sleep," he said firmly. His eyes flicked to Tony's broken leg. "S'gonna hurt like hell."

Tony made a sound that was a hybrid of a laugh and a sob.

"Already…hurzlike…sonabish," he replied languidly.

The former Gunny reached for one of two pre-filled syringes.

"Got some morphine," Gibbs said, uncapping the syringe. "You get half now, half when we're done."

"Done?"

Gibbs' brow furrowed at the extent of Tony's confusion.

"Your clothes are wet," Gibbs repeated patiently. "Need you to stay awake. You with me?"

Somehow, his voice reached into the darkness of his agent's dazed mind and Tony nodded sluggishly.

"I'm with you…Boss."

Despite his known hatred of needles, Tony didn't twitch an eyelash as his boss injected half the contents of the syringe into his thigh and recapped the needle. The moment the drug hit Tony's bloodstream all the tension leaked out of his body and his eyelids slid from half-mast to closed.

"Hey!" Gibbs said sharply.

"M'up," Tony mumbled.

Working quickly, Gibbs used the scissors to cut away the injured man's wet clothing. Tony's body was littered with bruises and scrapes from the nasty tumble down the side of the mountain but none looked threatening or hinted of a more serious injury. Despite the camp stove, the temperature in the shed was frigid and the former Marine noted Tony's lack of shivering and the absence of wise-ass comments with equal concern.

"You ready?" he asked.

Blinking heavily, Tony remained silent – pain, blood loss and hypothermia teamed with the morphine to leave the agent uncharacteristically docile. Sucking in a bracing breath he nodded his readiness and Gibbs carefully lifted his agent's shoulders. He wrestled Tony into a long-sleeved t-shirt and one of Sam's colourful Christmas sweaters as the younger man clenched his teeth at the pain the movement caused.

"Time to lay off the extra cheese," Gibbs grunted, bearing most of Tony's weight.

The former gunny took a woollen watch cap from his pocket and pulled it onto Tony's head.

"It'll keep your ears warm," Gibbs said, repeating Sam's words.

Getting his agent into the sweatpants proved much more difficult and after several agonising attempts, Tony slumped heavily against his boss.

"Stay with me, Tony," Gibbs told him.

Despite his best efforts, Tony's head fell limply forward and when unconsciousness beckoned, he tumbled mercifully into it.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

The hands of the clock dragged themselves around the face in agonizingly slow increments and McGee found himself back at the picture window. Outside, the fluffy white snowflakes fell from unseen clouds and contrasted starkly against the night sky. He'd checked in at the office; calming the fears of a frantic forensic scientist and noting the thinly disguised concern in Ziva's voice as she discussed several leads on Gianni Rosetti's accomplices.

The Allegany County volunteer snow rescue team had arranged to meet McGee at first light to search for the missing agents. Tim's vision of snowshoes, dogsleds and monstrous St Bernard dogs disappeared the instant he heard the word ski-doo and he hastily dismissed the urge to put voice to an excited but highly inappropriate "sweet!" Leaving nothing to chance, he'd called Anacostia to confirm the emergency medivac. Commander Bradley and the crew of the Knighthawk had been on their way back to base when the storm closed in and forced them to land at Potomac Airpark. If the storm cleared on schedule, the chopper would arrive shortly after daybreak.

The thought that Tony and Gibbs could already be dead while he sat helplessly waiting for dawn to arrive, sent McGee's stomach into a free-fall. He felt a gentle touch on his arm and turned to see understanding reflected in Donna's eyes.

"I thought you might like to join us for some hot chocolate," she said, handing him a steaming mug.

"Thank you," he smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, I'm not very good company tonight."

"Nonsense; you've got a lot on your mind," Donna told him, leading him away from the window and back to the couch. "Besides, you're just in time for the main event."

"The main event?"

"I found them, Momma," Sam called from the hallway.

Carrying a polished oaken box and looking like the cat that swallowed the canary, the young man joined them in the living room. Placing the box on the coffee table, Sam opened the lid and ran his fingers lightly over the items within. His curiosity piqued, McGee leaned forward to see an array of beautifully handcrafted tree ornaments.

"These are our special ornaments," Donna explained. "Sam made these with his Dad to celebrate their love of nature and animals."

Turning the box so that McGee could see, Sam pointed out the o'possum and the beaver, the deer and the raccoon, the shrew and the mole, the black bear and the wolf, the bobcat and the bison – all native to Maryland and all carved with great detail and love.

"These are really beautiful," McGee said as Sam smiled shyly.

"They're not your traditional Christmas ornaments," Donna said. "But to us, they symbolise love of nature and family. What better time to show that than at Christmas?"

Within a few moments the tree was done and when the lights were switched on, Sam's face lit up with excitement. McGee helped Donna clear the dishes, looking back over his shoulder at Sam who sat totally mesmerised by the twinkling lights.

"All this…it must be hard for you," McGee said.

Donna smiled knowingly.

"Tim…I don't think you understand just how much I love being Sam's mother. He's sweet and he's gentle and he's honest…he'll never be greedy or devious or spiteful." As she looked at her son, Donna's eyes filled with deep emotion and pride. "I am the luckiest mom alive."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Energised by the gale force winds, the snow and sleet continued to test the stamina of the fragile shed that creaked and screeched in protest but stood firm. Inside, Gibbs had taken advantage of Tony's unconscious state to periodically check the dressings on his agent's badly injured leg and monitor his body temperature and pulse. Despite the warm blankets and dry clothes, the younger man's skin was still pale and cold and his lips retained their bluish colour. With a painful twist of his gut Gibbs noted the absence of shivering and knew that Tony was not generating body heat.

He added extra wood cuttings and pine-cones to the camp stove while he activated the flame-less ration heater to warm the MRE's and a hot glucose drink for Tony. Only then did he shed his own wet clothes; baulking slightly before pulling on another of Sam's colourful Christmas sweaters and a pair of sweats. He filled a plastic bag with snow and applied it to his painfully swollen knee. He knew an injection of morphine would take the edge off his pain but it was in short supply and Tony was in greater need of it. He tossed down a couple of Tylenol – for now, that would have to do.

Tony's eyes danced frantically under his eyelids as his mind slowly rebooted. He began to move fitfully; muttering under his breath in snatches of unintelligible phrases. Slowly he became aware of someone talking to him; the voice low and reassuring. He concentrated on the words and they acted as a lifeline. A spasm from severed and traumatized leg muscles caused him to cry out as the intense pain drew him back to consciousness and he blinked as though suddenly becoming aware of where he was and what had happened.

"Boss?"

A rush of adrenaline-fed strength enabled him to try to sit up, struggling against the arms attempting to hold him down.

"Take it easy," Gibbs told him. "Don't try to move."

Dizzy to the point of nausea, Tony screwed his eyes tightly closed and breathed deeply. When he opened them again, there was a hint of lucidity as he looked toward his injured leg and swallowed convulsively.

"Really put my foot in it this time…Boss," he stated sibilantly.

Gibbs' lips curved slightly upward at the welcome hint of humour.

"Ya think?"

"How bad?"

The former gunny let years of experience transform his face into a neutral mask but Tony recognised the sharp worry in his boss' eyes.

"Bad enough," Gibbs replied, guiding a cup to the younger man's lips. "Drink."

"Whazzit?" Tony pulled back.

"It'll make you feel better."

Turning his glazed eyes to Gibbs, Tony's expression lit up.

"Beer?"

The team leader's lips wore a tiny smile and his eyes softened with affection.

"Not beer," he replied. "Easy, it's hot."

Tony grimaced at the first sip of the sickly sweet liquid but dutifully drank the entire contents.

"How'dja find me?"

"Sam. The kid who got you out of the trap."

Tony nodded drowsily.

"S'okay?"

"He's fine. Blames himself for leaving you."

"He did good. Woulda died in the trap." Tony gasped, as the pain from his leg grew worse.

"McGee and a rescue team will be here at first light."

"Probie s'coming?"

"Yeah, Tony…he's coming."

Pain and the bitter cold had screwed with his cognitive reasoning and he found he had to concentrate on every new thought. Suddenly, realisation dawned that Gibbs had risked his life in the snowstorm to get to him. He turned emotion-filled eyes to the former Marine.

"You could've died," he whispered.

Uncomfortable with showing his feelings, Gibbs averted his eyes and cleared his throat with a quiet cough before resolutely meeting Tony's gaze.

"You _would've_ died."

The lead agent hadn't said the words aloud but Tony had no trouble reading the subtext. Hell with Gibbs, if you couldn't read the subtext you missed most of the conversation. Tony gasped loudly as another spear of agony tore through his body and his breath caught on a strangled cry. He clamped his lips to deny it life and felt a firm squeeze on his shoulder.

"Boss?" Tony rasped.

"Need another shot?" Gibbs asked.

Tony nodded his head and Gibbs' chest tightened as he reached for the syringe and injected another half-dose of morphine into Tony's thigh. He watched as his agent slowly relaxed into a drug-induced stupor. Ducking his hand under Tony's sweater, he bit back a curse as he found minimal change to the younger man's body temperature. Sighing audibly, he ignored the shooting pain from his knee and nudged his agent's shoulder.

"Move over."

"Wha?"

"You deaf," DiNozzo? I said move over," Gibbs said, climbing in behind the younger man and resting Tony's back against his chest.

"Thazzit?" Tony slurred with a goofy grin. "Buy me one lousy drink and think you can climb into my bed?"

The former gunny rolled his eyes and wondered whether he was seeing his agent's loopy reaction to painkillers or Tony reinforcing the mask of the extrovert to hide the face and feelings of the man.

"Get some rest."

Instead of settling in to sleep, Tony fidgeted and then recoiled in horror at the sight of the ice-skating penguins adorning the Christmas sweater he was wearing.

"S'your sweater, Boss?"

"Does it _look_ like my sweater, DiNozzo?"

Tony frowned, looking from his colourful sweater to the equally colourful sweater Gibbs was wearing.

"Azzamadda of fact..."

"_They're Sam's_," he told him succinctly. "They're warm."

"Don't s'pose he…he packed any Zegna?"

"Go to sleep!" Gibbs growled.

"Didn't think so."

A long silence passed and just as Gibbs thought Tony had finally fallen asleep; the younger man spoke up again.

"Just don't wanna get…get rescued looking like an extra from Happy Feet," he said drowsily.

"DiNozzo!"

"S'alright for you, Boss," Tony continued with a hint of DiNozzo impertinence. "The dancing reindeer look good on you."

"Shut up, keep still and go to sleep," Gibbs growled again.

"Clearly, your pillow talk needs work," Tony mumbled. "'splains the three ex-wives though."

He yelped at the familiar sting of a head slap and reached up to gingerly rub the back of his head.

"Pass out or I'll knock you out," Gibbs threatened. "Your choice!"

Usually, Tony would staunchly defend his claim that DiNozzo's don't pass out but, as far as he was aware, he was the first DiNozzo in history to stick his fool foot in a bear trap and he was therefore entitled to a little leniency.

"Passing out…Boss," he mumbled and with a soft sigh, Tony's world went still except for the comforting sound of his Boss' heartbeat.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

A/N Happy Australia Day weekend, Aussies!

Thanks again for your support, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, L


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional.

A/N - Heartfelt thanks to all who reviewed and alerted this story and for the wonderful support, L

**When The Snow Lay Round About**

**Chapter Five**

The sun rose in half-hearted glory over the horizon, casting its rays over the snow covered vista and giving it an ethereal glow. Commander Bradley and his aircrew were aboard the Knighthawk and already en route to the Geary property; they were scheduled to arrive within fifteen minutes. The Allegany County snow rescue team had arrived moments ago, with two of the four Ski-Doos towing stretcher sleds and supplies.

In two scalding gulps, McGee swallowed the last of his coffee, grabbed a thermos flask and strode out into the open field next to the house. He introduced himself to the rescue team coordinator, Travis Seaton, and received a brief instruction on how to ride a Ski-Doo. Having ridden a jetski on several occasions, McGee was confident he would manage without problem.

"The shed you mentioned last night is not marked on the map," Seaton said. "Any idea where it is?"

"Approximately two miles from the house but I'm not sure of the exact location," the agent replied.

"Your boss must be crazy to go out alone in a snowstorm," Seaton stated. "How do you know he made it to the shed?"

"If you knew Gibbs, you wouldn't have to ask," McGee replied.

Seaton frowned at the odd reply and huffed out a sigh that misted in the cold air.

"It'll just take me a few minutes to divide the area into search grids and then we'll get started," Seaton told him.

"That won't be necessary," McGee said.

"You just said that you don't know the exact location."

"I don't…but we have someone who does."

Turning back toward the house, McGee saw Donna and Sam standing on the front porch.

"Sam!" he called, gesturing him over with a wave of his arm.

Sam struggled against Donna's fussing as she adjusted his cap and scarf, zipped up his parka and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. She watched anxiously as her son, barely containing his excitement and pride, ran to join the other men. Being involved in something as important as the search for Tony and Gibbs meant the world to the young man and he was determined not to let anyone down. Stumbling in the deep snow, Sam stopped suddenly and turned back toward the house; his arms windmilling furiously as he fought to keep his balance.

"Momma! Don't forget our surprise!" he called.

His brown eyes grew impossibly wide and he clasped both gloved hands over his mouth. Turning slowly, he looked to see whether McGee was listening and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the agent still speaking with Seaton. He flashed a cheeky smile at his Mom.

"Sam?" McGee repeated.

"I have to go, Mom," he called to her. "Tim needs my help."

Watching through a curtain of tears, Donna waved cheerily back and whispered the words she so desperately wanted to call to him.

"_Be careful, Sam." _

"You're kidding me," Seaton muttered under his breath as he saw Sam approaching. "Look, no offence, Agent McGee but your friends may not have time for…this."

"For what, exactly?" McGee said defensively.

"For him. You really want to put their lives in _his_ hands. What if he sends us in the wrong direction?"

"Sam won't be _sending_ us anywhere...he's coming with us."

"No way," Seaton protested. "I'm not taking responsibility for him."

"You don't have to," McGee told him. "He's riding with me."

"Look, McGee-"

"No you look...Sam knows this area better than anyone. He knows the exact location of the shed and he's coming with us - end of story."

Sam arrived and, sensing the tension, he looked anxiously between the two men.

"Tony's hurt real bad, Tim. We have to help him," he said breathlessly. "We have to go now."

McGee placed a calming hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"You'll be riding with me, okay Sam? The others will follow us. I need you to lead us to the shed."

Sam's jaw hung open.

"You want me to lead?" he asked.

"Absolutely! You're the only one who knows where the shed is, Sam. We need your help."

"I won't let you down, Tim, I promise," Sam said earnestly.

McGee ignored the scoff he heard from Seaton and clapped a hand on Sam's back.

"I know, man…come on, let's go."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

**N**ight had slowly crawled into the grey hours of early morning. Gibbs scrubbed his hands over his bristly jaw and yawned widely - he hadn't slept a wink. Instead, he'd watched helplessly as Tony slipped in and out of restless sleep as if caught in the twilight between a conscious and unconscious state.

A few hours ago, the younger man began to shiver violently. Although it was a welcome sign that his body was trying to generate heat, the continuous jerking movements caused unspeakable pain to his shattered leg. Gibbs looked at his watch and muttered a curse. It was too soon for another injection - too little morphine would subject his agent to unnecessary pain; too much could depress his respiratory system and cause him to stop breathing. Without a word being spoken, Tony read the situation in his boss' eyes.

"How long?" he asked through chattering teeth.

"Two hours," Gibbs replied as Tony closed his eyes and nodded gamely.

Gibbs successfully coaxed his partner into accepting more warm liquids and changed the blood soaked dressings on younger man's leg. As a former Marine, Gibbs thought he'd heard every cuss word imaginable but his agent surprised him when he expressed himself with several colourful and imaginative expletives. The storm had blown over but the temperature in the shed was still below zero as they settled back under the blankets to keep warm and to try to get some more rest. Tony leaned heavily against him - approaching sleep but not quite there; he shuddered and Gibbs squeezed his shoulder lightly in silent inquiry.

The younger man's voice caught and dwindled to a raw whisper.

"Couldn't do it, Boss," he rasped. "Tried…just couldn't."

"Do what?"

"Cut my leg off," Tony said, his voice flat and without emotion. "Had my knife…knew I had to cut it off or die but…I couldn't do it."

He pulled back slightly in the shadowy half-light and turned desperate eyes to Gibbs.

"Don't let 'em take my leg, Boss."

Gibbs' throat closed up and the knot in his chest clenched so tightly that he could barely breathe. The mask had slipped. The nearly impervious wall had buckled and the younger man's humour and bravado were nowhere to be seen as he gave a rare glimpse of the vulnerability that resided deep within. Tony kept that part of himself fiercely protected and the former Marine instinctively knew that, since the death of Tony's mother, only he had been allowed to see it.

Unable to find his voice, the lead agent gave a short, affirmative nod as Tony's eyes closed on a sigh.

Another hour passed and the younger man grew more agitated – muttering and squirming as the pain increased. Gibbs reached for the last syringe and injected the morphine into his agent's thigh, hoping like hell he wasn't over-medicating him. Within seconds, Tony's muttering calmed. A few moments later, the drug took effect as the tension eased from his body and he faded into a drug-induced sleep.

Gibbs continued his vigil, observing the rise and falls of his agent's chest and listening to his raspy breathing. For all his designer clothes, hair products and fancy cars, Tony was as resilient as any Marine he'd ever met. Hell, he'd beaten the damned plague and lived to talk about it. Whatever the circumstance, he knew his agent would never surrender his life without a hell of a fight.

Tony brought out both ends of the former gunny's emotional range; he could irritate him to the ends of his patience and he could painfully twist his heart into a pretzel and bring his strong parental feelings to the fore. A smile teased the corner of the lead agent's mouth.

"You're killing me, DiNozzo. You know that?"

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Had the circumstances not been so dire, McGee would be having the time of his life. Only Sam's arms wrapped tightly around his waist from the pillion position stopped the IT Specialist from opening up the throttle and putting the Ski-Doo through its paces. Leaving plumes of powdered snow in their wake, the rescue team made their way down a steep escarpment that led to the forest below. Sam leaned forward to speak to McGee who slowed the Ski-Doo to a stop and signalled to the others to do likewise.

"What's wrong?" Seaton asked, noting the anxious expression on Sam's face.

The young man frantically looked in all directions, mumbling softly to himself.

"Sam's just getting his bearings, that's all," McGee replied.

"You mean he's lost," Seaton snapped. "I told you this would happen. This is exactly the kind of delay that could cost those men their lives."

McGee felt Sam flinch at the harsh tone and shot a disapproving look in Seaton's direction before turning to his passenger. Sam anxiously chewed his lower lip and wrung his gloved hands before turning desperate eyes to the agent.

"Sam, just take a deep breath, okay?" McGee told him. "Close your eyes and think about the path you usually take to the shed. Think about the things you see on the way…a group of trees, a large boulder. Do you see them, Sam?"

The younger man screwed his eyes tightly closed and was still for a long moment. Suddenly, his eyes popped open and he pointed to the right.

"That way, Tim!" he said. "The shed is that way!"

Clapping a hand on Sam's shoulder, Tim returned the younger man's bright smile.

"Hold on tight," he said, before gunning the engine and leaving the rest of the rescue party in their wake.

They weaved their way through the trees and had only covered a short distance when Sam's excited voice called out over the loud roar of the engine.

"There, Tim! Behind those trees! We're here, stop!"

McGee brought the Ski-Doo to a sliding stop just yards from the battered old shed and in a tangle of arms and legs he and Sam all but fell from the vehicle in their haste to get to Tony and Gibbs. They stumbled through the knee-deep snow and burst through the door together, looking on in horror at the sight that lay before them.

Gibbs was seated with his back against the wall, his legs outstretched in front of him. His eyes were closed and his head hung so that his chin touched his chest. Tony's still form was sprawled against the lead agent's chest; his head was drooped to one side and his bluish lips contrasted starkly against his chalky-white face.

Sam gasped loudly and covered his face with his hands.

"No, no, no, no, no!" he muttered, stepping backward until his back was pressing against the door.

Bracing himself against his worst fears, McGee stepped forward. Taking a knee, he gingerly pressed three fingers to the lead agent's throat, searching for a pulse.

"You bring coffee?" Gibbs said quietly, slowly raising his head.

Overcome with relief, McGee huffed a laugh.

"Packed the thermos myself," he grinned.

Placing his palm against Tony's cold cheek, the IT Specialist was immediately alarmed.

"Boss?"

"S'okay...he's alive," Gibbs said, "Give me a hand...let's get him home."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Mercifully, Tony remained unconscious for the entire Ski-Doo ride back to the Geary home, where Commander Bradley and the Knighthawk crew were waiting to transfer them to Bethesda. Gibbs watched keenly as the corpsman stabilised his agent and secured the stretcher inside the chopper. Only then did the lead agent notice Sam and Donna standing off to the side.

"McGee."

The IT Specialist quickly appeared at his side.

"You need something, Boss?"

"Give me a hand," he said, pointing to the Geary's with his chin.

Sam arms were crossed tightly in the now familiar self-hug and his head hung despondently.

"Hey," Gibbs said quietly.

The young man looked up warily as the agents approached; McGee taking most of his boss' weight.

"Tony didn't wake up, Agent Gibbs," Sam said, chewing his lower lip. "Just like my Dad…I never got to say goodbye."

"You saved his life, Sam," Gibbs said, with a small smile teasing the corner of his mouth. "Twice."

He waited until the young man met his gaze before offering his hand in thanks. Sam made no move to accept the handshake and stared open-mouthed at the agent before engulfing him in a hug that nearly knocked him off his feet. Gibbs flashed a rare wide smile and spoke quietly into Sam's ear.

"Good job, Sam, good job."

When the commander called his name, Gibbs turned toward the chopper.

"Agent Gibbs, we need you on board, Sir. We're good to go."

"Wait!" Sam said, removing something from his pocket.

He held out his hand and Gibbs' chest tightened when he recognised Tony's badge.

"Tell you what...why don't you hold on to that?" the agent said. "We'll come get it when Tony's back on his feet."

Sam ran his fingers over the badge reverently.

"I'll take really good care of it, Agent Gibbs," Sam promised earnestly.

"I know."

When they'd said their goodbyes, Donna handed McGee a small parcel before shepherding her son a safe distance from the chopper. They waved the agents off until the Knighthawk was no longer visible against the overcast sky.

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

At Gibbs' insistence, Professor Julian Warner, a leading orthopaedic specialist based at John Hopkins Hospital, had been urgently summoned to Bethesda to consult with the surgical team about Tony's leg.

The former Marine had delayed his own knee surgery until the specialist arrived. He carded his fingers through his hair anxiously; his promise to his agent in the forefront of his mind. A cavalcade of doctors examined Tony's injury, scrutinised the x-rays and scans and discussed various surgical options as Gibbs grew increasingly impatient. Finally, Ducky broke free from the doctors and walked to the lead agent's side.

"It's good news, Jethro," he said. "Anthony was very lucky."

"He stuck his foot in a damn bear trap, Duck," Gibbs replied dryly. "You call that lucky?"

"Ah, yes, I concede your point," Ducky chuckled. "Nevertheless, Professor Warner is confident that with the insertion of an assortment of titanium plates and pins, Anthony should regain full function."

"He'll keep his leg?"

"Anthony will keep his leg," Ducky assured. "They'll be taking you both to surgery in a moment."

Releasing a long breath through his teeth, Gibbs turned his head away, not wishing to show the strong emotions playing on his face. As the orderlies arrived to take both men to surgery, Gibbs asked for a moment alone with his agent and then, balancing on one leg, he leaned forward over the bed rail and placed his hand on the crown of Tony's head.

"You hear that, DiNozzo? You're keeping your leg," he said, he said to the unconscious man. "I've done my part…now it's your turn."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

Still groggy from surgery, Gibbs grimaced as he shifted position in the uncomfortable hospital bed. The operation to repair his crucial ligament had gone well and his knee was now swathed in bandages and placed in a brace to restrict mobility. He looked at the empty bed across from his and then squinted at the clock on the wall. Six hours and still no DiNozzo. He was about to unhook himself from his IV and go in search of his agent when the sound of footsteps preceded Jimmy Palmer's appearance.

"I am so sorry, Agent Gibbs," he grimaced. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," Gibbs replied.

An awkward silence passed between the two men before Gibbs spoke.

"Need something, Palmer?"

"Oh, right, um, Tony's surgery went well and he's in recovery, ah…Doctor Mallard is with him," Palmer replied. "McGee, Ziva and Abby are on their way over from the Navy yard and should arrive anytime and…oh, I, ah, bought you some magazines to help pass the time."

Nodding his thanks, Gibbs thumbed through the magazines and raised a pair of quizzical eyebrows to the assistant ME.

"Bee-keeping, bird-watching and coin collecting?"

"They, er, didn't have any boat building magazines so I made a random selection of popular hobbies," he explained.

"These aren't hobbies, Palmer. They're cries for help!"

The pair was spared any further awkwardness as Abby burst through the door with McGee and Ziva following at a more sedate pace.

"Gibbs, Gibbs, we've been so worried about you," Abby said wrapping the lead agent in a hug.

McGee looked from the empty bed to his boss.

"Tony's not out of recovery?" McGee asked. "Is something wrong?"

"They're just being thorough," Jimmy replied. "It was a long operation but it went well. Doctor Mallard is with him."

"It's _so_ not fair that you and Tony have to spend Christmas in hospital," Abby told the lead agent.

"We'll be fine, Abs," Gibbs said as he placed a quick kiss on her cheek and turned to Ziva.

"You got anything?"

"Nothing to connect Carmine Rosetti directly with the attempt on Tony's life," Ziva replied. "However, JAG offered Rosetti a reduced sentence if he gave us the names of his brother's accomplices."

"He agreed?"

"Frank Coffey and Mickey Kane," Ziva informed him.

"You pick 'em up?"

"A few hours ago, Boss," McGee added. "They've been charged and remanded in custody."

Gibbs gave a satisfied nod.

"Good job."

"Oh and Donna called," McGee told him. "She and Sam wanted to know how you and Tony were doing and… er…Sam wanted to know if you liked your gift."

"What gift?"

He took a small, brightly wrapped parcel from his pocket and gave it to his boss.

"The one that I, er, forgot to give you."

"Oooh, I love presents," Abby enthused. "Open it, Gibbs, open it!"

With a shrug, Gibbs tore open the wrapping to find three small tree ornaments and a card. He gestured for his reading glasses and Ziva retrieved them from the nightstand. Reading the card silently, his lips twitched with amusement.

"What is it?" Abby said, growing impatient. "What does it say?"

Gibbs took a closer look at Sam's carved animals, admiring the workmanship and skill. He passed the card to McGee.

"Read it," he said.

"The note's from Donna," McGee said clearing his throat. "Dear Agent Gibbs, as I explained to Tim, my husband instilled in our son, a deep love and respect for nature and animals. Placing these ornaments on our tree each Christmas, symbolizes our love of family and nature. Sam has chosen an ornament for each of you and hopes that you will remember him fondly each Christmas as you place them on your own tree. I have included an explanation of Sam's choices below. Wishing you a speedy recovery and a safe and peaceful Christmas, Donna and Sam Geary."

He nodded at Gibbs who placed the first animal on the rolling table for everyone to see, as McGee continued reading.

"For you, Agent Gibbs, Sam has chosen the alpha wolf - a confident animal, that can intimidate with a look. It is fiercely protective of its pack and, without hesitation, will fight to the death to defend them."

"That is a _very_ good choice for you, Gibbs," Ziva said, exchanging a smile with Abby as Gibbs placed the next animal on the table.

"For Tim, Sam has chosen a beaver – known for its intelligence, the beaver is hardworking and meticulous."

"Again with the beaver!" Abby exclaimed. "Tony is gonna _love_ that."

"Funny," McGee replied with a wan smile.

As the third animal was placed on the table, McGee read again.

"And for Tony, Sam has chosen a raccoon – bold and curious the raccoon has excellent puzzle solving abilities. It is active by day but does its best foraging at night. Can be a nuisance and get into mischief if left to its own devices."

"Oh that is _most definitely _Tony_,_" Ziva laughed.

"Looks like Sam has you all pegged," Palmer said, examining one of the ornaments.

"Sam and his Mom sound _so_ sweet," Abby said. "I would _so _love to meet them one day."

"I, too, would like to meet the young man who saved Tony's life, not just once…but twice, yes?" Ziva smiled.

"Well now, it seems we have a consensus," Ducky said from the doorway as the orderlies guided a gurney into the room with a sleeping DiNozzo aboard. Their view of their teammate was interrupted as the nursing staff pulled the privacy curtain closed and began settling Tony into his bed.

"Duck?"

"We may not have had the Christmas Eve celebration we'd planned," the ME told them. "But we have most certainly received our Christmas miracle. The surgeons did a splendid job repairing the damage to Anthony's leg."

"What about his foot?" Gibbs asked. "He have any sensation?"

"Sensation is fine, Jethro," Ducky replied with a wry smile. "The only problem Anthony was having, was trying to decide whether the third little piggy had roast beef or bread and jam."

The others exchanged amused looks.

"Painkillers," they all said simultaneously.

"So...Tony will be fine?" Ziva asked.

"Yes, my dear, but he has a long recovery in front of him and will need extensive physiotherapy."

"How long before he's able to go back to work?" McGee asked.

"He could commence light duties in three to four weeks but I expect he won't be cleared for field duties for several months; longer, if he fails to follow doctor's orders."

"He'll follow 'em," Gibbs growled.

"Were you able to speak with him, Ducky?" Abby asked.

"We spoke briefly while he was in Recovery, my dear," Ducky replied kindly. "The doctors have him on powerful painkillers and he was a little…"

"Demented?" Palmer suggested.

"Actually, Mister Palmer, I was going to say…muddled."

"Right, that's what I meant, muddled," Palmer said, back-pedalling quickly.

"Can we see him?" Abby asked.

"It's very late, my dear. Anthony needs his rest. Why don't we call by in the morning, hmm?"

With a sigh and a reluctant nod of her pigtailed head, Abby wrapped Gibbs in another hug and the team said their goodbyes and made their way to the door.

"McGee?" Gibbs called softly. "You forget something?"

"Oh, sorry, Boss, I have it right here. I'll, er, just set it up for you." McGee inserted a DVD in the player and handed the remote to his boss. "Just press the green button and it will come straight on."

Gibbs nodded distractedly and McGee turned to leave.

"McGee?" Gibbs called. "Good job today."

McGee smiled at the rare acknowledgement.

"Night, Boss."

**0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0**

A few minutes passed before the nurses drew the curtain back from Tony's bed. Still too pale for Gibbs' liking, his agent had a nasal cannula and was hooked up to an assortment of IV supplements, antibiotics and painkillers. But rather than the expected plaster cast, Tony's leg was encased in an external fixator that looked like a cross between a medieval torture device and a Meccano set.

"How's he doing?" the lead agent asked.

"He's heavily sedated. I doubt he'll wake before morning," the nurse said as she made for the door. "We'll be checking on you during the night but press the call button if you need anything."

Gibbs turned his head and checked the clock on the wall - there was just enough time.

"Gotcha something," he told his agent, as he pressed the play button on the remote. The TV came to life showing a large ringing bell followed by the credits for It's A Wonderful Life. "DiNozzo Christmas Eve tradition, right?"

The movie played right through with Gibbs watching absently while his partner slept peacefully on. The steady rise and fall of Tony's chest was comforting and the tension and fear that had been Gibbs' constant companion since Tony's disappearance, finally lifted. Tonight, he knew Tony was safe and warm and protected and that was all the Christmas gift he needed.

"Merry Christmas, Boss," Tony whispered before the sleep swept him away once more.

"It is now, DiNozzo," Gibbs smiled into the darkness. "It is now."

**00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-oo00oo-00**

A/N I hope you enjoyed the final chapter. Until next time, with every good wish, L.


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